


Drabbles nr 2

by BookNerdie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:51:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookNerdie/pseuds/BookNerdie
Summary: More drabbles, one-shots and writings.





	1. Ayra/Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> Want me to write a paring, a situation or special character? Leave a prompt in the comments.

He always slept deep, as a teenager he was almost impossible to wake up in time for school and it was only thanks to Aunt Cat that he managed to get there on time most days. Everyone always used to joke that Jon could sleep through an earthquake. So maybe something deep inside him knew, maybe a small part of him knew that this call was not one he could miss. Even though his phone’s sound was off he woke up to the vibrations. He doesn’t look at the caller ID, just puts it up to his ear and answers in a gruff and sleep laced voice. Because of the last conversation they had five years ago he would have guessed that he was no longer her in case of emergency contact, it turns out he still was. Later he will wonder if it was on purpose or out of habit and forgetfulness to change it.

Two hours after he answers the phone he’s on a plan bound for Braavos. Messages left for Cat and Ned and for Robb. He can’t bring himself to call Sansa, Bran or Rickon. Sansa’s too fragile to wake up to an message on her phone of this, and although he is only their cousin he has always felt like their big brother and so he wants to protect them, want to keep them safe, even though is an impossible task.

He looks through the two way mirror and watches the girl sitting on the other side. She’s completely still and doesn’t even seem to care for the bruise forming around her eye and the blood on her face. He can hear the police officer talking to him but he only manages to catch a word here and there. The girl sitting there looks so much like his cousin and at the same time she looks so little like her. He hears words like “undercover” and “lost contact a year ago” and “brainwashed” and even though he only hears pieces he knows enough. This girl might be his cousin through blood but she is not Arya. She remembers nothing about him or her family. Doesn’t remember following him around everywhere, playing soccer for the school team, taking up fencing and falling in love with it. She doesn’t remember her siblings or her parents, her childhood or her teens. This girl doesn’t remember a road trip to the wall the summer before her senior year of high school. Doesn’t remember standing on top of the wall and looking out on everything, doesn’t remember their lips meeting for the first time.

She doesn’t remember three years of sneaking around and hiding, doesn’t remember loving each other more than they had ever loved anyone else before. She doesn’t remember fighting in the middle of the night and her asking him to choose her. She doesn’t remember his hesitating or her leaving and slamming the door, telling him if he would not choose her over everything else then why should she. He didn’t hesitate because of the reason she thinks, he hesitated because how could he rob her of everything, her family and friends? How could he run away with her when it meant her running away from everything else in her life. She never responds to his calls or texts and he believes she better off. He avoids family gatherings when she is there and he knows she does the same. They never stop asking what happened to them, how two people who were inseparable ended up stop speaking to each other all together.

He’s still there when Ned and Cat show up, still just staring through the mirror, he watches as they lead her from the room out in the hall preparing to transport her to the psychiatric ward at King’s Landings hospital. As she stands there, she meets his eyes and he never though his heart could break more than the day she walked away and left him, turns out he was wrong. Because as grey eyes that mirror his own meets his eyes he seems noting in them, no love or hate not even a hint of recognition.


	2. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive (work and personal life has been crazy on top of that my anxity decided to make an comeback but now I'm finally back to writing, even have several chapters planned :)

She watches as the tree lines grow thinner and sparser as the world goes darker and the moon rises. The outside world speeds by as she watches and the landscapes change before her eyes, the snow thins out until it disappears and the grass becomes greener. If that’s not a metaphor she doesn’t know what is, because the grass isn’t greener on the other side. But she knew that already, she always known that for her there is no better place. Where ever she goes her darkness will follow. The sun rises as Casterly Rock passes by and she watches as the people of Lannisport come alive. She wonders what life would have been like had she been born somewhere else, to other people, if her name had been something else. And she wonders if she would still have been born with his words on her body, she wonders if his writing would still be across her back and if she might have been happy about it then.

The sun of Dorne is hot and scorching on her skin but it doesn’t make her feel alive, no the pain doesn’t make her feel anything but pain, all she can think is that her skin should burn and turn pink like Sansa’s and mothers would. But too many years of spending time under the sun across the narrow sea has turned her skin used to the sun’s rays and it only serves a reminder of what she has become and what she has lost.

Bran’s name blinks across her screen as she misses another call, it seems like her siblings (the ones that are still alive) are taking turns calling her. But his name never appears, not one call not one text (she’s not sure if she is relived or heartbroken). She swipes the notification away.

The needle brushes across her skin, removing the reminder of him from her skin forever, or hiding it at least (no matter how hard she tries the words won’t disappear, just like he won’t from her mind). It’s all a game of pretend. She pretends her name is something else, she pretends she is someone else, she pretends she enjoys her life, that she is happy (that she’s forgotten him). She works, she makes friends, she sometimes even enjoys it. She wonders what he would think of her if he could see her she thinks as she walks home in the middle of the night smelling of sex and someone who will be dead by morning (because she hates herself).

She is wonderful at playing pretend, she has done it for so much of her life. So wonderful that she manages to trick herself, she makes Arya go away. She makes herself forget herself, Cat has no siblings, did not grow up in the north, she doesn’t chew her lip and she doesn’t find herself ugly. (But she always remembers that she is playing pretend even when she forgets why and when it started, even when she manages to really forget she knows that it’s all a game).

The names flashing across her screen means nothing and she doesn’t even know why they continue calling her.

When she wakes to a missed called for someone called Gendry she wonders why it makes her heart clench, she wonders why the pain blossoms in her chest and then she puts the phone aside.

When she sees that the words underneath the flowers and acorns on her back have gone grey she wonders if she ever meet him and if she made herself forget and then she shrugs her shoulders and moves about her day. If she notices the empty cold feeling inside of her that never goes away after that she never says and she never shows.


	3. Arya/Jaime

_Some stories never have happy endings and even though they know it some people will still go ahead, because some stories still need to be lived._

She looks out the window and down on the dark street and the people still moving around. The door lock turns and she can hear footsteps on the hardwood floor. Normally she would never turn her back to a door and she would never let her guard down, but here, here in the place where they came closests to being normal she would relax, she would not be always on guard. She can feel his arms wrap around her and she can feel the stress of the week leaving her body, can feel herself calming down. His very presence makes her calm.

In here she is not the wild she-wolf who rips apart her enemies, she is not the danger that lurks in the night, she is not a name that make people fear and be paranoid. In here she is not a murder, she is not the daughter of a mafia boss, she is not the heiress of a legacy of violence. She is not one of the siblings that run the north. She is not anything that people expect of her. In here she is the person she would have been in a different life, she is still strong and confident, but she is not someone who has to give up her future, she is not someone who has to be able to shoot a gun and feel nothing, not someone who has knives hidden at her at all times. She is not someone who people watch with fear and wonder. She is just Arya. Nothing more and nothing less. And he is just Jaime. Just the two of them, being themselves and not what the world has made them. They are nothing more than lovers in the night. Nothing more than two people who love each other.

For twelve hours they will play pretend. They will act like this is all there is, act like nothing will ever change. Act that dying of the others gun is not a fear they live with. Act like killing the one they love the most is not a fear they have.

Between these four walls they are nothing else then what they choose to be, there is no pressure, no reputations to live up to, legacies to fulfil. Between these walls they will not pretend that everything will be okay one day, they will not lie about the future, they will live in the now. They will not entertain any ideas of running away, of escaping. They will not pretend like they have an choice, and they will not speak of the day a choice is to be made.

His hands stroke her face, callused from a life of violence, just like hers, he trace every scar, every high and low point. His fingers trail along her lips, along her eyelids and trails into her hair where he wraps a piece of her hair around his finger, he closes his eyes and she watches a he just lies there playing with her hair and just for a moment she wonders what life would be like if this could be her life. If she could wake up to him every day and go to sleep next to him every day. But she pushed the thought aside, it does not do to dwell on impossible dreams and ignore the reality. Because this will never be their life. They can never have this, and they have known it since the beginning but it’s never stopped them.

_It’s a complete confidence that both of them finds themselves at the same bar in the city of Lorath on just this day. She has no idea what brings him here and he has no knowledge of her intentions here. But here they both are, drinking beer and playing pool, not talking only watching each other. They should hate each other, should be trying to kill each other the moment they laid eyes on each other, but they are to tiered tonight._

_His hands surrounds her face and brushes her hair away, her lips are swollen and his pupils dialated, for a moment all they do is stare at each other and without walking they agree that this will never be spoken of, that nothing will come of it and that it will never happened again._

_Expect it did. I happened again and again, and at some point they both realised that it was too late to stop it now. That somehow quick fucks in an ally had turned into sneaking away secretly to just hold each other and feel anything else. That they might still be forced to killed each other one day and that they were in love which each other. That everything they wanted were a life together but to have it they would have to give up everything, and neither of them was willing to do that._

_It was like a story played out in front of them, the ending garneted to be tragic but neither of them could close the book._


	4. Arya/Ramsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note before hand, I'm planning of writing a short drabble fore everyday in novemeber, so give me all your prompts and parings you wish to see, does not need to be Arya-centric, okay that was all for now.
> 
> Enjoy.

Fingers trailed along her spine making their way up and down, up and down. She wonders if the blood on them has dried yet or if they will leave her back bloody and wet, marked, a reminder of everything they have done. His fingers leave her spine and grab her chin, forcing her grey eyes to meet his dark ones. She wonders if they reflect his soul. She can feel her heart speeding up in her chest, beating faster and faster. It’s not out of fear. It should be. She doesn’t fear him, never has. Since she first looked into his eyes she saw something she had only ever seen in the mirror before. She wonders what it says about her that she doesn’t fear him.

His lips are cold against hers, cold and hard and comforting. He bites her lip and she can taste her own blood. He moves away and moves his fingers to her mouth, she was right, they are covered in blood and it’s not yet completely dried, he moves two fingers between her lips and she accepts them. Can feel the taste of someone else’s blood fill her mouth. She looks up to meet his eyes and she can see the desire in them, can see the lust awakening. She looks down.

She can feel the callouses on his hands as they move across her body, her back arches as he plays like an instrument and she can do nothing to hide her pleasure, does not want to hide it. He collapses next to her, his back covered in scratches, both of their mouths bruised and she can feel the bruises forming on her hips and neck. She rests her head on his chest and she wonders what it says about her that she can find calm here, in his embrace. In the embrace of a man that has never before made anyone calm, a man that inspires fear and dread and yet this is where she feels at home. She looks over at the floor and at the empty eyes of Cersei Lannister, she always thought it would fill her with calm, that the anger and rage would die down inside of her once she finished her list. It seems she was wrong.

Ramsey knew, he always knew. Knew that even after Cersei was dead she stilled longed for revenge and the bloodthirst was still there, inside of her, barley under control. She thought she would be able to give it up once they had been punished, that once the ones that took everything from her were dead she would be able to relax. She was wrong oh so wrong. The longing was still so very alive inside of her. Always there, just under the surface, barley concealed, just waiting to be released.

Ramsey calls her wolf, just as her father once did, but the meaning is very different. Ramsey thinks her savage, loves the way she tears apart her victims, always suppling her with more. Never letting the monster underneath the surface be, always poking, always tempting, teasing. Ramsey loves nothing more than realising her and watching her tear her enemies to pieces. Until she has no enemies left and then he goes to set her free on anyone he chooses. Ramsey calls her his wolf, but she is his monster. Savage and unreliable, filled with rage and hate. Uncivilised. Bloodthirsty. Dangerous. Monster.

She stands as the water sprays down on her and watches as it turns red before it disappears down the drain. Ramsey’s hands in her hair, washing it, she leans her head up to face the stream of water and closes her eyes. He loves her in the only way he can, she thinks. Just as she does with him. They are not creatures of love and so their love is violent and dangerous. They were moulded by anger and hate not care and compassion. They are not whole people, they are broken, unstable yet somewhat sane. Able to make plans and execute them. Able to play games and play they do.

They are the type of monsters who hide in your closet waiting for you to feel at your safest before striking. They feel enjoyment at tormenting their victims, wants to make someone else just as broken as they are. She loves him but sometimes she wonders, wonders if this is what she is or if this is what he made her. But then she stops herself. Ramsey is the only one who never left her, he stayed with her, he is her constant if this every changing world. She will not blame him. Because the truth is that they make each other monsters. The games they play, the things they find in each other, they make each other so much worse.

Sometimes Arya thinks of gentle Sansa, of fair father, of kind Bran. Sometimes she wonders what they would think of her. If they would hate her, if they would be disgusted by her. Of course they would be, that is what normal people think of the things she do, of people like her. She is a killer, a monster, she should be judge, she should be hated, she deserves it. They made each other monster, monsters of gods and men. They are the worst thing to happened to each other and the best.

She watches the food sizzle and she cocks her head to the side, she feels arms incircle her. She should feel trapped, should want to run. But she feels safe. Safer than she has since she watched them take father’s life.


	5. Arya/Bronn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why have I never considered this paring before? Oh well now I love it.

She can’t place him. She knows that she knows him from somewhere. But her alcohol muddled mind can’t remember from where. He must have felt her eyes on him because he stands up and walks away from his friends and sits down next to her, singling the bartender not speaking until he has another beer in his hands.

“So, am I just so attractive that you can’t stop staring or do I have a huge stain on my face or something?” His voice is deep and low, and it makes her tilt her head sideways, she knows she knows him from somewhere.

“I know you.” He lifts one brow, one well shaped brow, Sansa would almost be jealous, she giggles.

“Then it is a shame that I don’t know you, how about we make it even?” His voice is low and suggestive, and it makes her giggle again. Surly she would know if it was a bad idea since she knows him, well she knows that she knows him and therefor she should know if she knew it was a bad idea to have sex with him.

He slides next to her in the cab and crushes his mouth to hers, this was clearly not a bad idea she thinks as he makes her want him so much more with only his mouth against hers. His hands are big and strong when he lifts her up and holds her against the wall of his hallway. Turns out he is as good with the rest of his body as he is with his lips and tongue.

She wakes up perfectly drained and well fucked, and a bit hungover, but before she can really enjoy it she looks at his face and realise why she knows him. Fuck, is the only word inside her brain. Sansa would kill her if she found out. She doesn’t get further in her train of thought before the bedroom door opens and Sansa and Tyrion both stand in the opening, arms crossed as she sits next to the best man of her sisters coming wedding, a wedding that her sister wanted to be perfect, a she just fucked her sister’s future husband’s best friend. Fuck indeed.


	6. Arya

“The north knows no king or queen other than the king or queen of the north. Let them bow to the boy king for we bow to no one but Arya Stark, winter come flesh and queen of the north.” The men cheered at the Greatjon’s words, but she remained frozen as the men before her place their swords at her feet and swear words of fealty. This was not what she wanted. But she does not say a word and she lets them place a crown on her head and name her queen. She has never wished harder for father than she does in that moment. But father is dead and if a crown on her head is the price she will pay for bringing justice for him she will wear it with pride.

They call her she-wolf, they whisper it. The men watch her with sorrow, fear and something akin to pride. They think she is of their making. They consider themselves queen makers. They did not make her this. She was always the same and it was the Lannister’s that unleashed it when they took her father’s life. They call her queen of winter, they say that if you look at her eyes you can see the same ice that covers the north. They say that is the north come human, that the old kings of winter live inside her. But she is just Arya, there is no one expect her. She is all alone. They whisper that she is the stranger, that she rides with death at her back. That when you hear the wolf howl you know that the she-wolf is on the prowl and she is out for flesh. She wonders what they would think if they knew the truth.

Blackfish watches her, always there always watching. Her mother is somewhat blinded by love and loss, Edmund to blind to really look. But the Blackfish is neither, he looks at her and he sees her. Sees the thirst for revenge and hunger for blood. He does not cower before her like so many, does not look at her with fear, only pity. She sends her mother back to Winterfell and her brothers, cannot be hindered by her mother’s watchful eye. Cannot worry for her now. She rules Edmund with whispers and carefully made comments. He is not hard to deceive. But the blackfish cannot be sent somewhere else and he will not be played like a piece on a board. No, he requires much more thought. He sees the real her and he is not afraid.

They used to say she was Lyanna come again. A wilful, beautiful northern rose. Now no one say such a thing. Her men follow her without question. They take pride in her, they love her, but they also fear her. Ice queen, frozen blood in her veins and the frozen ground of the north in winter. They whisper of her wrath and her power. Of the direwolf at her side that follows her every command. They whisper that the old gods sent her down to rid the world of evil. But how can that be when she herself is evil. Her men think her good, they might fear her, might whisper of her but think her cause right and good. She knows better. How can anyone be good when they crave and delight in the things she does. The queen of winter is not good, but she is what is needed. Deep down there is a girl buried, a girl that just loved her father and wanted to bring him home. A girl that picked him flowers and listened to his voice as he read to her. A wilful girl who just wanted to have power over her own life. A firstborn girl who had nothing and wanted so much more. Now she is queen, has more power than she ever dreamed of and all she wants is her father.

The crown rests heavy on top her head. She wonders if it ever will grow lighter and wonders if maybe it does than she has failed and should no longer were it. The sun is slowly rising far ahead, and the morning wind is cold around her. The braids they have made her hair into whip around her face where she stands but her body is unmoving. Frozen but from the inside and not the outside. This was never what she wanted. They gave her no choice. She will bring the wrath of the north and they will cower before her. They will beg, and she will not have mercy. They will think her weak, she will prove them wrong. She will show them what happens when you dare cross the north. She will show them she is not some girl wearing a crown. She is a ruler, a leader, she is winter come human. She is the she-wolf of the north. The wolf’s blood running strong through her veins.

Jaime Lannister is on his knees in front of her and she can see the lack of fear in his eyes. She sits on her seat and she takes one moment. One moment to consider what brought them here. Then she pushes it aside. She is not the girl who envied the man in front of her. She ignores the voices of her men around her and meets the man’s eyes, she can see the moment he understands that this will not go the way he thought it would. She rises from her seat and holds out her head and within seconds she holds her sword. Her men are quiet now, the excitement can almost be seen in the air. She raises the sword. Time slows down. It freezes, and she takes a deep breath and she can hear her siblings play in the snow. She can see them chase each other around. She can feel her insides being covered in armour. She sees them place a crown on her head and she see her father watch her with sadness and pity. Time flies. There is a head on the ground and she stand still as they take it away. She remains. Frozen in time. Stuck in a single moment. The world goes on around her. Time flies by. She remains.

She is immortal. Like Bran the builder and the kings of winter, like Aegon and Balerion. She will live forever. As a nightmare, a tale they tell children to scare them. The she-wolf. The rage and rise of the north. The winter queen, a wolf in human shape and the kings of old come back, the winter made flesh. But she is just Arya. A girl who lost her father. All she wanted was him back. She will never have him. He would never look at her the same anyway. He would know. Know that she was nothing more than a monster with a thirst for blood. He would never love her the same. Maybe this was for the best. She could not bear her father’s disappointment.

She finds her little sister and she sees the scars and the pain in her eyes. She hates them even more. She stands in a field of bodies and it is not enough. It is never enough. The monster inside never sleeps, it craves more and more. She hates herself. She sends her little sister and brother home and she vows to not come back until they are all dead. But even then, it will never be enough. They woke her, and now she will never sleep again.

The world whispers of the winter queen and the madness inside. They talk of the girl who rides to battle at the back of a direwolf and how she thirsts for blood. They speak of the girl who became legend. The girl who left the road behind her red with blood and who spared the smallfolk. Even those who love her fear her. No one trusts a killer queen. Some say that she is death come to earth, looking for more souls to take. That she is the stranger grown tiered who human’s foolishness. That she was sent to free the world. There is something not right with the girl who conquered the world.

She sits in her father’s hall, in his place and she can feel her family’s fear. They do not know the girl who sits among them. They fear her. The wonder if the whispers are right. If is a she-wolf, thirsty for blood. If she is as cold inside as the north that bore her. They do not recognize the sister that played with them. Those who knew her father say she inspires loyalty like him, they do not say she lacks his kindness and morals. Those who knew Brandon and Lyanna say that she has the same blood in her veins as them. They say she was supposed to belong to Brandon, that she is as fierce as him. As untamed as Lyanna. She wonders where they say the coldness come from, where the anger and violence come from. Maybe that part is all her. She hopes it is. Hopes her siblings has none of this thing inside of her inside them. They deserve more. She hopes they are safe from the anger and cold, hopes their children are. She will have none. Will not bring anyone into this world, will not expose them to the raw bitter feelings inside her. The hunger that once there never goes away. No amount of blood with settle it, there is not enough revenge for it to go away. Nothing will bring her father back. Nothing will make her calm again. No matter how many she has killed, who she has slain she will always want more. Because when they took her father they took her soul. They ripped her wide open, exposing her insides. They took her human part and left her there. She was not meant to live like this, no one was. She was alive, not human but heart beating. She was the she-wolf of the north. The winter queen, the old winter kings come back, winter made human. Killer queen. She was a child who lost her father and could never recover.


	7. Drabbles

Short drabble prompts

Angst

**”You’re a monster”**

The words pierce the air. Sucks the air out of her lungs. She remains standing, rooted to the spot on the floor. He looks at her with thinly veiled disgust. She swallows. He isn’t wrong. There is more blood on her hands that a lifetime of water supply could wash away. He is one of the good guys. She is not. Hasn’t been in a long time. For a moment she though she could be. Could be good, could help people instead of hurting them. But he is right. She was made for ripping people apart, not putting them together. She lets the walls go back up, lets herself push back the small human bits still remaining inside of her. The marches past him, cold dead eyes, not letting herself look at him one last time.

Gendry watches as she leaves. He waits until the door shuts and he is sure she can’t hear him anymore. He sinks to the floor. She is safer away from him. The people threatening her… he won’t let them get her, even if it means losing her. He knows she would never leave on her own, so he pushes her away the only way he knows how to. He only hopes he hasn’t done too much damage. But at least this way she will still be alive. He sobs into his hands. He won’t rest until he has killed every last one of them. They though threating her was the way to get to him. Threating her was only one thing, a one-way ticket to the grave.

 

**” Don’t die on me please”**

His hands are bloody, and he presses them to her body. But no matter how hard and long he does it, the blood keeps coming. She is watching him, she is smiling he thinks, he isn’t sure, it has been a long time since he has seen it. She hasn’t smiled since she came back. Not the real smile, a fake one that no one could see past yes, but not him, he knows her smiles better then his own face. Knows when it is not real. She coughs, and he chokes on his words. Begging, pleading. He just got her back. He can’t lose her. Not again. Not when he spent so long thinking her gone from this world. Every breath she takes is laboured and he can feel the tears on his face as he begs her. Begs the gods. She smiles at him. There is no fear, no anger in her eyes, she looks like the Arya he grew up with. The one who loved him more than anything, the one who would stand by him, who he loved more than anything else in the hole world. She lifts her hand and wipes the tears of his face and looks up at him.

“Don’t cry for me. For I will finally be at peace. Death is not a punishment for me. It is a gift, one I have waited for a long time. Brother, live and be happy for me. But know that my life would never have been filled with anything but grief and pain, death and anger. “She coughs, and he chokes on his breath. She is paler than ever. He shakes his head. He can’t lose her now. Not when he just got her back. He feels her hand on his and he looks shocked up at her face, his heart clenching at the sight of her face. “Let me go brother. My time was up a long time ago. Once the took father’s head my faith was sealed. “Her words are lined with pain and labour. He shakes his head, the only word coming out is “no”. He is not ready, will never be. “Don’t grieve to long. Don’t hate yourself.” He screams a scream filled with pain and anger, sadness and despair. Her sword is clutched in her other hand and she looks up at the sky when her eyes turn blank and she exhales one last time. He sobs into his bloody hands, his head coming to rest on her chest. They will have to pry him for her cold body. He just got her back. She can’t be gone before he even got to used to her being back. Life can’t be this cruel.

 

**“We can’t keep this up forever”**

She is watching her face in the mirror, fixing her hair. Making sure it looks alright before she leaves when he speaks. He is still lying in bed.

“No one will know.” She adjusts her gown, the crown resting on the table in front of the mirror. She never wears it inside this room. Here were there are no expectations, no one watching and judging. Just the two of them. She doesn’t respond. He is wrong. None of them will stop this. He knows it just as she does. She sees no reason to pretend otherwise.

“I don’t care about that. You have your secrets of how you pass unseen and you can keep them. I am talking about how this will eat us. Eat u. You… regardless of what you think you are good. This will destroy you.” She doesn’t respond, only watches herself and him in the mirror, looking at making sure there are no marks, no evidence. He loves her. He intrigues her. He doesn’t fool himself into thinking she loves him. She doesn’t believe herself capable of love anymore. Say they took that from her, doesn’t say who they are. She shakes her head but does not say anything. She reaches out and places the crown on her head. She looks like the winter bore a daughter he thinks. Strong and fierce, and cold and sad. The king care for her, loves her even, but does not see the depth in her eyes. Only a pretty face and a hole kingdom. He hates him. She meets his eyes before standing and moving towards the door.

“I will be back tonight” She doesn’t wait for a response. She knows he will not refuse her.

 

**“I came to say goodbye”**

She stands still in front of the window. He can see her reflexion in the dark glass but there is no indicator that she heard him. But he knows that she did. She is forever aware of her surroundings. Those years that she does not speak of assured it. There is a picture clasped in her hands and he does not need to look to know who it is of. He picks up the bag from the ground. She did not move when he collected his things. Only stood there like she does most days. But the person she is waiting for will not come. He walks forward and places a hand on her shoulder. She does not react in any way, she is still watching the street below.

“He is gone. Dead.” His words hurt her he knows but there is no way around them. They must be spoken.” I hoped that I would be enough for you, but no one will ever be until you let him go. I used to think is was normal grief but this, this is not normal. You don’t act like you are grieving for a brother, but for a…lover, boyfriend. “She meets his eyes in the window. But they are still as empty as ever. “I love you but I respect myself enough to stand by while you love another man, a dead man. A man that was your brother.” There is nothing indicating that she heard him. He removes his hand. He had hoped, he knew he shouldn’t have but he did, that she would stop him, tell him he was wrong and ask him to stay. She does nothing. Just watches the street below. He places the key on the table and leaves.


	8. Arya/Rhaegar

She places the empty glass down on the bar and signals the bartender for another. He only gives her a look as he refills her glass. She takes the refilled drink to her lips and lets the alcohol wash into her mouth. It burns on its way down. She ignores the voices around her and they her. She slowly drags more alcohol from the glass, her eyes staring at nothing in front of her. She drags her finger along the rim of her glass, her mind somewhere else. She doesn’t look up as a man comes to take the place next to her. He is like everyone else here, rich and spoiled. Normally she would want nothing to do in a place like this. But no one would every look for her here, the rule breaker the rebel, no, no one would look for her here in the world of the elite. She starts when the man has the bartender refill her glass. She looks at him, intent of telling him off. She is not here to socialize. But she freezes as she meets his eyes. Purple meets grey and she finds her mouth dry. She knows those eyes, not the colour maybe but the rest of them. They are like _his_. And just like she always found herself reflected in his eyes, she can see the pain inside of her mirrored in this mans eyes. She downs the drink and grabs her bag and leaves before he can open his mouth.

He finds her outside. Back leaning against the hard stone of the house next to the high-end bar. She is taking long drags from the smoke in her hand. He stands opposite her and takes the cigarette from her hand and lifts it up to his own mouth. Taking one long slow drag from it before letting it fall to the ground and crunching it with his foot. He places his hands on either side of her head and leans forward, their breaths mingling in the air. His eyes flick down to her mouth and then up again.

“You coming home with me?” He says it like a question but nothing about him suggests that there is more than one answer. She doesn’t speak, only nods at him, her eyes never leaving. He takes a step back and leads her away. He opens the door of a black car for her and climbs in after her. The car is driving of before he has quite closed the door. The driver saying nothing. He leans towards her and helps her climb onto his lap. His hands start at her face, freeing her hair from the ponytail, slides down her neck, traces her breasts. She closes her eyes. But he doesn’t let her remain that way. A sharp pain across the breasts makes it clear that it is not allowed. She watches his face as his hands trace her body.

He pulls her into the elevator. There are still no words exchanged between them. Only her ragged breathing as he explores her body over her dress. He pulls her chest to his back. His hands ghost across her covered nipples. She stifles the moan that threatens to escape. He is not gentle as he takes her to his bedroom and removes her dress. She makes herself keep her eyes on his, the faint purple still visible and the smooth surfaces of his hands reminding her who it is she is with.

She has never met him before this night. Her mother made sure of it. Scared of what would happened. Scared he would see a ghost in her place. But they are not ghosts. They are the living. The breathing. The ones that are remaining. They could never forget. If it only was that easy. They are painful reminders of the past. Of what could have been. She strokes across his chest. Smooth and strong. She falls to her knees in front of him and he does not stop her. Only winds his hands into her hair and guides her forward.

He whispers things into her ear and she arches her back underneath him, a stifled moan leaving her lips. He breathes out her name. She wonders if he does it to remind himself. But she knows he does not mistake her for someone else, others might have but she knows that to him they are as different as he is to her. She knows some might look at her and see a woman long dead, but she knows that he only sees the differences. Everything is all wrong.

She lays besides him, her body bruised and used. She is grateful. A funeral dress lays on the floor besides a black suite. She can see the paper on the nightstand and she closes her eyes. She does not need to look at it to know the words written across the front page. She reaches out and strokes her hand across the thin paper. This is not a dream.

She looks at the man besides her, he has fallen into a fitful sleep where he lays. She rises and sits and stares out the window. Outside the world goes on. Inside of her it has stopped spinning. No one seems to understand it. She catches a glance of herself in the mirror and quickly looks away, she does not have it in her to meet his eyes yet. Hasn’t since it happened. It is unfair, she can’t even see her reflection without being remined of what cannot be. Cruel. She looks at the man beside her and wonders if that is how he felt when she died and only her son remained. A son that had her eyes. Is that why he left him? She rises and gets back into the black dress, her heels dangling from her hands until she stands inside the elevator. As she walks across the floor a woman enters the lobby, her back as straight as her own, her head held high. Their eyes meet as they pass each other, grey meets brown and she almost wants the women to look at her with anger. But there is only pity and sadness in her eyes. The world seems to slow down as they pass each other by. Seconds turn to hours as they look at each other. This woman should hate her, should disdain her, but there is noting of the sort in her eyes. She turns her eyes away from the women, it hurts to much. The man outside the building nods at her and hails her a car. She slides inside and leans her head back. Digging trough her purse and grabbing her phone she flips trough the missed calls. She looks at looks at his face across her screen. She can’t find it in herself to remove it. Remove him. She wonders what he would think of her if he saw her now. The doorman had already giving the address to the driver and so she only needs to pay him as she leaves the car and removes her shoes as she walks across the grass. She finds herself in front of a grave. She wonders what he would think of her. Her cousin, if he could see her now. Still in love with him and fucking his father.


	9. Arya/Viserys

He was not sure what he expected but he was sure it was not this. When Doran Martell announced they need more allies he had never expected him to suggest the northerners, they had their army long ago, their _King_ killed. So what could they do for him? For his cause? Doran had said nothing only that they could give them more soldiers, make their chance of making it higher. So he had grumbled and scowled but he had accepted, nothing mattered more than reclaiming his crown, if the north was the way to do that he would have them join him.

He knew that the Lannister’s had killed the old Lord Stark and that the so proclaimed king in the north had been killed at his uncle’s wedding. He knew there to be more Stark’s but when he walked of the boat in White harbour the sight that greeted him was not one he expected. There in front of the grim and dirty northern men atop of a great wolf that only could be a direwolf sat a girl, a women, clad in armour and a sword at her side, a circle of bronze resting around her head. Her back was straight and there was something cruel in her eyes. Once he stood in front of her, sitting on his horse, his men declaring who he was, a large woman stepped forward, bigger than any women Viserys had ever seen sitting on large warrior horse she spoke, clearly and proudly.

“Queen of the north Arya Stark, conquer, Lady of Riverrun and warden of the north and lady of the trident, daughter of Lord Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the north. “

 _Queen._ His mind spun is circles as he sat at the large table, opposite the northern leader. Her armour was light and she wore boiled leather on top, she looked just as her men, except that she much smaller and much more beautiful. Her hair was pulled back in simple braids and on the bottom of each rested iron spikes, least none make the mistake of trying to grab her hair in battle. Oberyn had spent several minutes watching the girl when they first sat down around the table before freezing next to him and looking away from her. Her hands moved constantly, spinning a small knife in one hand and some sort of bronze coin in the other.

In his bed chamber that first night he watched as his sister sat silently on the bed as his uncle spoke.

“The coin, I’d know that coin anywhere, anyone that spends time in Braavos would. It belongs to the faceless men. Assassins. Deadlier than anyone else. They will kill anyone for enough money. They _never_ fail. “

He had silenced his uncle at that and stepped out of the room. He found her standing on a balcony, wearing the same dress she had at dinner. The plain circle of bronze still resting on her forehead such as contrast to his own. She said nothing as he came to stand besides her. But he knew what she knew. She knew that he had figured it out. Oberyn though that she had contacts, that she knew someone in the house of black of white. Viserys knew that she had been one of them. Had known since he first laid eyes on her that she was so much more than any one else alive. He imagined that this is how people felt when they laid eyes on Visenya.

“What is your price?” She looks up at his voice and there is a smile on her lips, not one of joy, but there is cruelness and anger there, he has seen it enough times in the mirror. _She is like him_. She will do everything for revenge, to tack back what was hers. To punish those who took it from her.

“The north is allowed its freedom, I will no longer be queen, but princess as will all those born of house Stark. We will bow to you, but we will not kneel. _I will not kneel. “_

He nods his head. Steps closer to her and she does not move away. The braids in her hair remains and so does the spikes and he picks one up and closes his hand around it loosely.

“Are you not afraid that it will _hurt_?” Her words are mocking but he smiles anyway and answers her.

“We both know that there is no greater pain that losing your family, your home. Nothing can hurt after that.” She smirks at him, but he can see the pain flash in her eyes, before the anger replaces it, they only way not to break is to hate, to vow for revenge. His mouth is hard and cruel on hers, but she does not turn away. Pain makes the pain inside disappear for a moment.

He steps inside the throne room and finds her sitting there, blood on the floor and on her body, on her face and in her hair. She sits sprawled on the throne, twirling a small blade in her hand. She screams madness. Everyone that is sane would turn away and run, but he has never been sane. The cruelness in her eyes matches only his own. He walks up to her and removes the plain bronze circle from her head, then he reaches out for his guard and takes another crown from him, white gold shines in the light, a single black stone shines in the centre, he places it down on her.

“Princess and warden of the north, Arya Stark who rules in the name of Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the first men and the rhyonar. King of the seven kingdoms and the Iron Isle.” His man speaks as the two of them watches each other. Slowly she rises from the throne and gestures for him to take his place. She walks away as he sits down, down the line of his army and unlike everyone else her eyes are not on him. Should anyone else do it he would have had their head, but he only smirks at her retreating form. She will come to him later, she will show her respect before she rides back north.  If he though she would accept he would make her his second wife, but she would not. She sees her place in the north. But maybe she could be convinced to visit from time to time. And he is sure there is reasons for him to travel north. He knows she will never marry and so she might not belong to him, but she will not belong to another man, she belongs to the north. She can no more be tamed that the wind can. No more than you can control the ocean can men control her. He scoffs at his brother who threw away a kingdom for a woman that let herself be locked into a tower, Arya Stark would never be locked away anywhere. She could not be contained. He pitied the man who tried.


	10. Arya/Rhaegar

Her father has spent years keeping her away from the capital. Time and energy devoted to making sure she never set a foot here and trying, hoping, to make sure that if she ever were to she would be married first. He feared the past and the future and when he looked at her she imagined he saw them both. Arya never put much thought into it, she knew of course, knew because as she grew older it was all everyone spoke of when they saw here face. But she loved the north and its people, the air and the streets, so she was never bothered by her father’s fears. She wonders if she should have been.  But he is gone now and she remains.

He is tall, taller than she imagined him, his shoulders are quite broad and there is strength in his body although he is quite lean. He is watching her, as she watches him in return and she wonders what he sees when he looks at her. He doesn’t look surprised, doesn’t look much of anything, there is a veil of calm covering his face and his true thoughts. She clutches the glass in her hand tighter and watches as he walks towards her. People are making sure to not look, she can see the way that the people around them look away and try to keep their heads from turning, how they disappear from around her, and she finds herself nervous for the first time in a long time.

When he reaches her, she has someone backed herself into a corner, the wall touching her back, without noticing it. He stops just a few inches away from her, close enough to easily reach out and grasp her hand and bring it to his mouth.

“Lady Stark, my son speaks highly of you.” His voice is low and if she let herself she would find herself shivering from it, but she does not and so, she doesn’t. His lips are warm on her skin and when he releases her hand she must stop herself from bringing it to her and wiping it.

“I’m not a lady, your grace.” He might not have been able to remove the power her family had, or steal their wealth but he, his family, made sure that at least the Starks were no longer noble. There is a sneer hiding behind her words, but she manages to keep it of her lips. Sneering at the king would not do anyone any good.

“Of course, my lady, I was very sorry to hear about your father, Jon always spoke very highly of him.” This time she can’t stop the flinch that shakes her body, she looks up and meets his eyes and she clamps down her lips to stop herself from speaking.

“In fact, I find myself most surprised to see you hear, everyone assumed you to be… well, two years is a long time to not hear from someone and with everything that happened to your family… well I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to see you safe and sound. “She searches his eyes as he speaks, and she almost finds herself believing him, but she doesn’t. He isn’t surprised, he has heard of her return, most of the kingdom has by now she assumes, one last Stark appearing and rising from the ashes. But he is not unhappy about her return, no not happy but not unhappy either. She smiles at him.

“I am afraid I needed some time after everything, and I wish of course that I could have made sure my siblings knew I was safe, but my departure was a hasty business I am afraid. I found myself not quite myself after my father’s… departure. “

“And now, you have found yourself?” He watches her from the corner of his eye as he lifts his glass and sips from it. She smiles a smile that is more menacing then nice, and she almost have to stop herself from showing her teeth.  But she does, and she watches as his eyes track her hand to her face as she corrects her air and fingers her earing. She smiles for real and tilts her head and looks up at him, grey meeting purple.

“I have your grace, thank you for asking. “

“Oh, we are practically family my dear, call me Rheagar My lady, I insist.”

“Only if you call me Arya.”


	11. Arya/Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequal to chapter 1

After parking the car he remains sitting, his eyes glued to the building on the other side of the street, the stone of the building is fading and the brick is more orange then red. The flowers outside or halfway to dying and it seems the outside reflects the inside. Leaving the car takes every bit of strength he has, and his feet feel heavier the lead as he walks across the street and approaches the double doors. The women in the recaption looks up but then simply nods at him before looking down to her magazine again. She knows who he is here for. He shakes his hair to get rid of the wetness from the rain and he can almost hear Arya’s laugh and her calling him a dog, but it’s just his imagination. Pulling of his coat and draping it over his arm he walks into the corridor and follows it, entering the large room at the end of it. A man points him to the corner and he follows with his eyes and finds the person he is looking for. She hasn’t looked up yet, playing a game of chess against herself, she is looking down at the table not bothering looking for if someone is coming. But she doesn’t startle when he sits down across from her, neither does she look up or acknowledge him. He doesn’t speak, just watches her until she is in the middle of a move and speaks up. The sound of her voice echoes inside his ears and his heart picks up speed. Her voice is raspy, like she has a soar throat, or has been screaming. Or hasn’t used it for a long time.

“Catelyn told me we were close.” Catelyn. Not mother or mom. They tell him that she knows that her memory has been tampered with, changed and put back in the wrong place. But still she does not remember anything from before, does not know them, her family. At least she has been speaking to some of them. Him, she always ignores or just stare at.

“We were. We… grew up together, and you and me, were always the closest. It drove cat and ned spare, the way we would never allow anyone to separate us. But I was the only one that could calm you down when you were young, so…” He trails of. She is watching him, grey eyes so like his own, watching and observing. Judging him. She nods slowly before looking back down at the chess board.

“I… I though you to play, you know.” His voice trembles in his throat but he thinks he manages to keep it from showing. She hums but says nothing and so he does the same. Inside praying that she speaks again so that he can hear her voice.

“Didn’t you find it odd?” He tilts his head at her and she must understand without even looking up because she elaborates. “That you stopped hearing from me, you must have figured something was off.” He swallows and looks down at his lap. Had they been speaking he would have, but they weren’t.

“We had a fight a few years ago and you left afterwards. Never called me back or anything so after a while, after a while I stopped trying to reach you. You disappeared, had contact with the others for a little while before stopping. Everyone was worried but by that point no one knew how to reach you. You… you vanished into thin air.” She looks up again, her eyes slightly narrowed as she looks at him, like she is trying to judge him, judge his words and their truth.

“What did we fight about?” She looks straight at him as she asks the question and he looks away, out the window at the rain drops running down the windowpane. He swallows, and he can feel his blood beating through his skin. His voice is horce once he speaks.

“Nothing that matters anymore, it was stupid really.” She is still just watching him and for a moment he feels like she knows it’s a lie, like she knows the truth. But she can’t. Can she? He shakes the though away. She doesn’t remember. Not him. Not their fight. Nothing. She shrugs and looks down at the board again.

“Must be hard for you. If we were that close and I don’t remember you and we stopped speaking over… something stupid, insignificant.” She gets up from the chair and looks down at him, grey meeting grey and she smiles. There is nothing of his old Arya in that smile, its cold and angry and sad. She turns around and leaves. He looks down at the chess, heart beating wildly in his chest.  


	12. Arya/Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LyannaForPresident asked "I was wondering if you could do something with arya/Jon and Jaime/Cersei? Maybe the twins discovering the Starks and their reactions or Jaime realizing that Jon is in love with arya and taunting him and using the line “pretty sisters are a mans undoing” or something like that?" 
> 
> Ask and you shall recive

The former kingsguard knight has been watching him most of the night and Jon can feel his eyes on him even when he has his back turned to the knight. He hasn’t spent much time thinking about it. He’s been busy watching her. Arya is dancing with one of her men as she has done most evening and most men has been praying for a dance with her Jon knows, she doesn’t notice it herself, is still the child that no one called pretty but him and father. But she was pretty then as she still is, maybe not the same kind of pretty, but to Jon Arya has always been beautiful. Loras Tyrell takes the man place and pulls his sister close to him, Jon’s fits clenches as he watches Loras fucking Tyrell spin his little sister around the room. He feels someone next to him and turns his head and meets the green eyes of Jaime Lannister. The man smirks at him and looks out on the dance floor.

“She is till unmarried is she not? Better be careful so nobody steals her away.” Jon feels his fists clench without him thinking of it and glowers at the golden-haired knight.

“Don’t.” He only laughs before turning back to watching the dancing.

“In fact, I think I will throw my sword into the ring if you excuse me.” Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and grabs the other mans arm, something similar to a growl leaving him lips.

“Pretty sisters are a mans undoing Stark, you do best to remember that.” Before he can clamp his lips shut he finds himself responding.

“We are not the same” His voice is low and sounds more like a growl that a normal voice “I would never do the things you have done.” The man laughs again and Jon finds himself hating the sound more so than any other. He leans in closer and whispers in a voice only he can hear.

“But what if she asked you too?” He remains frozen as the other man walks away, he watches as the knight approaches his sister and how her face his closed off but she takes the knights hand. Then she turns her head and meets his eyes and Jon finds himself relaxing. The tension seeping from his as she smiles a small, real, smile at him, one that he knows is only for him and no one else, just like the real Arya, the one no one gets to see is only for him.  He swallows and wonders if there is something he would ever deny her. Something she could ask of him that he would not give. He watches Lannister spin her around and saying something that makes her relax. No, he would giver her everything he could.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.


End file.
